


just running from the demons in your mind

by CassandraStarflower



Series: whenverse [2]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Gift Fic, M/M, Suicide Attempt, backstory to my time travel fic but fully comprehensible without reading it, friendship fic, handwavy medical stuff, stan is the best friend, very handwavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassandraStarflower/pseuds/CassandraStarflower
Summary: Two years after It, most of the Losers have drifted apart. Richie’s struggling; with his parents, his classmates, and his mind.Luckily for him, Stan’s paying attention.





	just running from the demons in your mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stanlonbrough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanlonbrough/gifts).



> This is a bit of a backstory to ‘when the good times come it’ll all be that much better’, and the suicide attempt that Stan and Richie reference a few times.  
> Title from Without Me by Halsey.  
> Gift fic for stanlonbrough! I hope you like it!

Richie slid slowly down his bedroom door, shaking. He could hear his parents screaming at each other downstairs. 

A crash startled him and he tensed, pressing his fist against his mouth. Glass shattering, probably his mom throwing a bottle. 

_ Business as usual, huh Rich? Only the only friend to help you out now is Stan, since the others have moved the fuck on. Too cool for you at least. _

God. He stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and bit down, trying not to cry. 

“YOU ARE SO WORTHLESS YOU FUCKING WHORE!” 

Richie put his hands over his ears, giving up on not crying. 

A harsh smacking sound rang through the house and Richie heard his mother start crying. Loud, wailing sobs. Words coming through- she was calling Wentworth a bastard and jackass and a cheater. 

Yeah, Richie didn’t need to be reminded of all the times Went had brought someone home. He could remember being six and some girl who was maybe seventeen looking at him like he was a worm while passing the couch. He’d been sitting with his passed-out mother. 

Wentworth started yelling right back and Richie had had enough. He got up and grabbed his backpack and started throwing stuff in, packing clothes, his school stuff. Then he walked to the window and climbed out. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stan jumped when a ping sounded at his window. He got up and crossed the room, looking outside. 

_ Richie.  _

He opened the window and watched Richie scramble up the tree next to his window and grab the sill. 

Stan scanned Richie’s face, looking for any injuries. He didn’t see any- although he did notice the tear tracks on Richie’s cheeks. 

Richie turned and closed the window, hands shaking. He dropped his backpack to the floor and looked at Stan, who was watching him with concern. 

“They’re fighting again.” he said, voice shaking. Stan wrapped his arms around the other boy, heart breaking again. It wasn’t fair. 

Richie pressed closer to Stan, trying not to start crying again. He hated this, fucking hated this. He thought he maybe hated his dad. Maybe his mom too. 

“It’s not fair.” His voice was choked with tears. Stan nodded, holding him a little tighter. 

“I know.” Stan said quietly. “…Wanna sleep?”

Richie considered. “Okay.” he said finally. 

They curled up on Stan’s bed, silent, and snuggled together. Richie felt a little bit better now. A little bit. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Richie lay on Stan’s bed, awake, staring at the ceiling. (In the future/past, they would mirror this position with Stan being the one lying awake.) 

Sometimes he scared himself. He felt bad lately. Really bad. His parents kept fighting. He didn’t know what he wanted to happen. 

If they divorced, who would he end up with? And would it change anything? If they didn’t divorce, that meant more of  _ this _ , for another two years before he could get the hell out. 

_ Not fair. Not fair.  _

He felt his throat closing up and furiously swallowed. 

_ Boys don’t cry, Richard _ , he heard his father saying in his head. 

_ Well then I am an utter failure, since I cry all the fucking time. Fucking stupid, so fucking stupid. _

_ I’m such a fucking- _

He wasn't actually sure. There were a lot of words he used to describe himself, but… 

_ I hate myself _ .

He swallowed hard. 

_ I hate myself _ .

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He went through the next week feeling numb and empty. Having come to the realization that he hated himself, things were… harder. 

It didn’t help that he hardly talked to the other Losers, except for Stan, and that everyone else at their fucking school seemed to hate his fucking guts. Hell, he hated his fucking guts. 

Stan seemed to be picking up on Richie’s behavior, and he was paying a lot closer attention to Richie. It would’ve grated on Richie’s nerves, but it… felt nice. Having someone care. 

It didn’t help much. 

He still caught himself looking at his father’s razors in the bathroom cabinet. 

He still caught himself looking at his mother’s sleeping pills. 

He still caught himself thinking about how he could die. 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. _

He found himself spending a lot more time with Stan, trying to outrun the bad thoughts. But he still had to go home, interact with his parents, hurt. 

He found himself wanting everything to stop. 

At one point the school counsellor called him into her office and told him to smile more because he was making everyone else sad. 

Richie  _ highly _ doubted this. 

Somewhere else, a counsellor would have noticed, talked to him, and would most certainly have realized he was at high risk for suicide. But this was Derry. 

No one gives a shit in Derry. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stan had a very bad feeling. A  _ very _ bad feeling. Richie hadn’t come to school today. 

Something was wrong, very wrong. He skipped second period to go to Richie’s house, and noticed that no one seemed to be home. He knocked anyway. 

“Hello?” he called. “Richie? Mrs. Tozier?” He paused, then, reluctantly- “Mr. Tozier?”

No response. He went around back and climbed up to Richie's window, which was left open. 

Richie's room was a mess. It looked like Richie had trashed it. 

“Richie?” Stan called again. “Are you here?” 

He walked hastily out of the room, looking around. Richie was nowhere to be seen. 

Stan moved to the bathroom door and hesitated, hand hovering over the knob. He seized it and opened the door- and froze. 

_ No.  _

“Richie!” 

Richie lay on the floor, eyes closed, skin pale. His breathing was shallow. 

Stan rushed to his side, shaking.  _ Should've paid more attention to him.  _

_ He can't be dead, he can't be, no no no no no _

There was a pulse, very faint and thready, but there. Stan got back up and ran for the phone. 

“Hello?”

“911, what's your emergency?”

“My friend took a bunch of sleeping pills.”

“Address?”

He gave the address, voice trembling, and was told to wait for the ambulance. 

He returned to the bathroom and waited for a surprisingly short amount of time before the ambulance arrived. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Richie woke up four days later. Stan had been there every day, except when at school. Waiting anxiously for his best friend to wake up. Hoping desperately that he would. 

_ Please please please plea- _

Stan was there when Richie woke up. 

Richie blinked his eyes open and stared blankly at the ceiling. 

_ Whaaa…? _

“Richie?”

_ That's Stan… what the fuck?  _ “Stan? What-” Richie looked over at his friend. 

“You didn't come to school, so I went to your house.” Stan's voice was tight. Richie thought of what Stan would have found there. 

_ Oh God he saved my life. _

“Stan, I-” Richie didn't know what to say. 

Stan was crying. Stan was  _ crying  _ and it was Richie's fault. 

Stan reached out and took Richie's hand. “We can talk later. Just- please, please promise me you won't do that again. Please.”

Richie looked at him, throat closing up. 

Stan swallowed. “Look, I promise I won't. Now you promise me the same.”

“I promise.” Richie whispered, and then he started crying. 

**Author's Note:**

> God, this is a mess. And I'm posting it on my phone, so here's hoping.  
> I really hope you like this slightly early Christmas gift, stanlonbrough. (If you celebrate Christmas- if not, then just a gift)


End file.
